


Pull Me Down

by allyasavedtheday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Human, Dancer Derek, Dancer Stiles, Gen, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, POV Alternating, idk how to explain the feel of this fic?, soft quiet feelings that neither of them will acknowledge but are helpless to stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia preens, giving him an indulgent smile. “I’ve found you the perfect dance partner.”</p><p>Stiles brightens, standing up a little straighter. Trying to find a dance partner for the upcoming year’s round of competitions has been an exhausting, unrewarding process so far. “Who is it?”</p><p>“Derek Hale,” Lydia beams.</p><p>Stiles' face immediately falls and he sighs. “No.”</p><p>*</p><p>Stiles and Derek are both looking for a way to make themselves stand out from the crowd in their last competition before they graduate. Dancing with each other might be just the way to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> The playlist that accompanies this fic can be found [ here](http://8tracks.com/allyyasavedtheday/pull-me-down) and the track listing can be found [here](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/post/102561781772/pull-me-down-aka-the-romantic-playlist-for-my%22) :)
> 
> I just want to point out, I'm not a dancer and so I kept any dance-related descriptions vague for that reason but if there's any glaring mistakes feel free to point them out! Any brief descriptions of characters doing warm-ups etc comes from my own experience with gymnastics. The competition in this story is completely fictitious and really just a way for me to structure the plot. So yeah, there's your full disclaimer :P

Derek is stretching when he catches sight of Laura in the studio mirror. “What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling one arm across his chest to stretch his shoulder muscle.

Laura stops idling by the studio door and comes into the room, only stopping when she’s a few feet behind him. “Can’t I visit my baby brother during his rehearsals?” she asks nonchalantly but she’s here to tell him something, he can tell.

“You can,” he allows, “but I know that look. So what is it?”

Laura sighs, cocking her hip and resting her hand against it. “I have a proposition for you.”

“What kind of proposition?” Derek asks, sitting on the floor and opening his legs in a wide ‘v’, pointing his toes as he leans over his right leg until he can clasp his foot and feel the pull in his back.

“Well, you know how much you excel as a solo performer,” she begins. “But you’ve been through the same competitions and done the same shows three years in a row now. Scouts are looking, Derek, it’s time to shake things up.”

“What, like get a dance partner?” He’s moved onto his left leg, forehead resting on top of his knee as he counts his breaths before sitting up again.

“Yeah,” Laura says slowly and Derek catches the assessing gaze she’s giving him in the mirror.

“I guess I could work with Erica again,” he shrugs, stretching his legs out straight in front of him. He and Erica were dance partners for their last two years of high school. When they started college she joined their school’s ballet group and he went solo but they’re still friends - partnering up would be as helpful to her as it would be to him.

“I actually had someone else in mind,” Laura says carefully. Ever since the fire Laura’s acted as his pseudo-manager, she personally saw to it that he had an audition to every performing arts school in the country and promised him she and Cora would go wherever he did.

In the end they’d stayed in California but moved out of their hometown so Derek could dance – it’s the only thing that’s kept him sane the last few years.

“Like who?” He’s not averse to partnering up with someone else but he’s not sure if he likes the gleam in Laura’s eyes right now.

“Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek knows Stiles, not personally, but he knows his work. He knows he’s talented, has seen his performances, but he also knows Stiles had been kicked out of almost every dance class he’s ever been in up until he started college. He can’t follow guidance, can’t concentrate, can’t stick to designated steps which has caused other members of his class to freeze up during performances on more than one occasion but there’s no denying the breath-taking quality of his work.

Still, Derek could never work with him. Stiles is unpredictable, Derek is the opposite. He needs stability in his performances, needs order and structure to his dances. It’s why he likes working alone so much; the only person he has to rely on his himself.

Laura must sense his reluctance because she immediately launches into her sales pitch. “He’s incredible, Derek, the only person in this state even  _close_  to your standard and he’s looking for a partner. You’re both graduating this year, you need an extra boost to get yourselves noticed. And you could create something really magical.  _Please_  think about it,” she begs.

“I’ll think about it,” he finds himself saying, if only to appease Laura.

*

Stiles is just finishing up his rehearsals for the day, sweaty and exhausted, when Lydia waltzes into the room, heels click-clacking on the studio floor. “Do you love me or do you love me?” she asks airily, coming to a stop behind the ballet bar he’d been using to stretch.

Stiles wipes at his face with the towel slung around his neck and picks up his bottle of water. “I always love you but why in this instance in particular?”

Lydia preens, giving him an indulgent smile. “I’ve found you the  _perfect_  dance partner.”

Stiles brightens, standing up a little straighter. Trying to find a dance partner for the upcoming year’s round of competitions has been an exhausting, unrewarding process so far. “Who is it?”

“Derek Hale,” Lydia beams.

Stiles' face immediately falls and he sighs. “No.”

“What d’you mean “no”?” Lydia demands with an affronted look.

“Derek is the most by-the-book dancer in this school, we’d kill each other,” Stiles replies knowingly. Derek’s an incredible dancer, the whole country could tell you that – he’s the darling of every dance class he’s ever been in - but he’s too technical for Stiles’ liking, too stuck in his head. Stiles moves whatever way he feels like moving when he feels like moving. Derek wouldn’t last five minutes dancing with him.

“You can’t deny he’s talented, Stiles,” she replies haughtily, arching an imperious eyebrow and folding her arms.

“ _Yes_ , he’s talented,” Stiles huffs, shoving his towel into his gear bag and slipping on his converse. “But you know how strict he is. Do you honestly think we could get along long enough to actually come up with even one dance routine?”

Lydia sighs, pursing her lips together. “It could be a disaster,” she concedes. “But it could also be something completely extraordinary. You’re both amazing by yourselves, combining your talents? I can’t even imagine how special that could be.”

Lydia smiles slightly, the kind that always makes Stiles smile back. “Think about it, okay? I’m friends with his sister so as soon as you make a decision I’ll give her a call.”

“Okay.” He only says it to keep Lydia happy.

*

Derek starts off his night on his laptop looking for music for his next piece. But somehow suddenly it’s past midnight and he’s on the tenth video of all of Stiles’ performances that YouTube has to offer.

It’s captivating watching him dance. He commands the stage, comes alive with every step and Derek is mesmerised. He can feel his resolve breaking, even though every fibre of his being is telling him this is a bad idea, that they won’t be able to work together, but he looks at Stiles and he  _wants_. Wants to move with him, wants to see if his hands are as strong as they look, wants to see if Stiles’ face is just as beautiful up close.

He shuts down  _that_ thought as soon as he thinks it but he can’t shake the desire to dance with Stiles, even if it’s nothing more than curiosity pushing him.

*

Stiles researches Derek that night.

He already knows a lot about him. The dance community is surprisingly small in that regard; everyone knows everything about everyone – stats, genre of choice, stuff like that.

He also knows about the fire. Again, everyone does, but he’s slightly more informed since his dad consulted on the case as the sheriff of the next county over.

He bypasses all the articles about it when he googles Derek’s name, doesn’t need to read anything about it partly because it feels too personal to do so and partly because it’s not gonna tell him anything helpful about Derek as a dancer.

Eventually he starts watching Derek’s videos. Some are of him as a teenager, dancing with Erica Reyes – the pretty ballerina that Stiles had classes with in freshman year – but all the more recent performances are solo, like Stiles.

He’s almost annoyed when Derek is as good as he remembers. Derek’s talent is undeniable, has the kind of innate quality to it that makes you stare in awe. He’s beautiful when he dances, Stiles can admit, and he feels a thrill at the thought of dancing with him.

By the fifth video he can feel himself giving in. He’s itching to pick up his phone and tell Lydia he’ll do it but he stops himself, reminds himself how opposite his and Derek’s learning styles are.

But after he finds a video on Erica’s YouTube account of Derek laughing and twirling her exaggeratedly around an empty stage, moving freely without the restraints of music, he texts Lydia and tells her he wants to try a trial session.

It’s worth a shot, right?

*

Laura tells Derek he and Stiles are going to have a trial rehearsal to see how they work together and Derek feigns disinterest. Laura doesn’t need to know he spent five hours the other night watching and rewatching Stiles’ performances.

They’re meeting during the slot Derek has the studio booked for his own rehearsals and he can’t understand why there’s a swooping feeling in his stomach while he sits on the bench and waits for Stiles to show up.

At exactly four o’clock a redhead in a floral dress comes gliding into the room with Stiles trailing behind her. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s chewing on the string of his hoodie but Derek can see the perfect set of his shoulders and the almost musical way he ambles into the room. His eyes flicker around the room as he walks, when they land on Derek he starts a little, spitting his hoodie string out of his mouth and drawing his shoulders back.

Laura’s up and off the bench before Derek is really aware of what’s happening.

“Lydia!” she gushes happily, skipping forward and sweeping the redhead into a hug. Derek stands up and wanders over at a more sedate pace, idling unsurely behind Laura.

“Laura,” the redhead – Lydia – says warmly. She releases Laura then, sliding her gaze over to Derek and holding out a hand. “Lydia Martin. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she greets charmingly.

“Uh, Derek.” He fumbles a second before shaking her hand – her grip is iron.

“And this must be Stiles!” Laura exclaims before Derek can say anymore and Stiles startles again, tripping forward a few steps to shake Laura’s hand.

“Yeah. Laura, right?” Stiles’ voice is deeper than Derek imagined, sounds quiet in comparison to the commanding way Laura and Lydia are speaking.

“That’s right,” Laura nods. “But I don’t think I’m the Hale you’re here for today.” She grins conspiratorially at Stiles who raises his eyebrows, lips tugging up in the slightest smirk as his gaze darts to Derek and then away again.

“Yes, exactly,” Lydia agrees. “We’ll leave you two to get to work.” She turns to Stiles, placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do great,” Derek hears her murmur encouragingly. “Call me tonight and tell me all about it.”

Stiles nods, smiling openly and it lights up his whole face. “I will,” he promises.

Derek doesn’t hear the rest because Laura’s catching his attention and squeezing his arm. “Play nice, okay?” she whispers. “I think this could really work.”

Derek has the ridiculous feeling that he and Stiles are like pre-schoolers and Laura and Lydia are sending them off on their first day of school but he nods anyway. “I got it, Laur,” he replies, rolling his eyes so she’ll scoff at his dramatics and leave him alone.

“Whatever,” she says but she’s grinning as she turns away from him. “Lydia? Coffee?”

Lydia looks over, nodding in approval. “Absolutely. Have fun boys.”

And then they’re gone.

*

Stiles rocks on his heels, shoving his hands back into his hoodie pockets for lack of something to do. “So,” he says, mostly to fill the silence. He trails away with a look from Derek.

“Full disclosure,” Derek says stiffly, eyes almost meeting his but not quite. “I don’t really want a dance partner. I’m doing this for my sister.”

Stiles snorts but he can appreciate where Derek’s coming from – Lydia’s the one who’s been pushing him to get a dance partner, he’s always been pretty content on his own. “Ditto, man. Teamwork and I don’t always go together,” he explains, in the interest of full disclosure after all.

Derek scoffs, mutters something like, “I’ve noticed,” under his breath and Stiles narrows his eyes.

“What was that?”

Derek looks up in surprise, has the decency to look abashed at being caught before squaring his shoulders and meeting Stiles’ gaze dead on. “You’re not very good at following direction, are you?”

It should sound rude – it does to an extent – but the uncomfortable way Derek delivers it softens the blow a bit.

“Like you’re a dream to work with,” Stiles snorts. He said it only softened the blow  _a bit_. “You don’t exactly seem like the perfect partner either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek demands indignantly.

“You’re so uptight!” Stiles insists, waving his hands. “It’s either your way or no way!”

“And how do you know that?” Derek snaps.

“People talk, the dance community in this city isn’t  _that_  big, Derek.”

“Oh yeah? Well, all anyone says about you is that you’re a flight risk, too undependable to dance with.”

Stiles gapes at him but mostly he feels too frustrated to actually be upset by what Derek said. He already knows what people think of him. But his brain doesn’t work the same as all those other dancers - uniformity bores him, doing the same thing over and over again bores him, he likes mixing it up and doing what feels right. That’s why he likes contemporary so much.

He blows out a breath to convince himself to calm down and his shoulders sag a bit. Derek is holding himself taut as a wire, scowling at Stiles, and some ridiculous part of him kind of wants to laugh.

After a second a huff of laughter manages to escape and he shakes his head, clapping Derek on the back. “Well, glad we got that out of the way, let’s dance.”

*

Stiles is just like Derek expected him to be. Terrible at following choreography. Irritable when Derek tries to correct him. Altogether breath-taking when he moves.

It’s infuriating, honestly. If Derek only had to contend with the first two facts he’d have no problem in telling Laura it’s not going to work out but there’s something in Stiles that makes Derek crave to match his stride.

Because if he could, if there was some divine intervention or something and he somehow ended up meeting Stiles halfway, he thinks they could be something really special.

Stiles is sweaty and annoyed when they finish up but his eyes are lit up like he’s excited. “I guess that wasn’t completely catastrophic,” he offers Derek as he slings his gear bag onto his shoulder.

“Could’ve been worse,” Derek hums and Stiles’ lips quirk like he wants to smile.

“So are you gonna tell Laura you were right all along and that this was a horrible idea?”

“That depends,” Derek says carefully. “What’re you going to tell Lydia?”

“That you’re an anally retentive dictator,” Stiles responds casually before catching Derek’s eye and grinning. “But you’re probably the best there is out there right now so I probably shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’ll tell Laura you’re not without your merits,” Derek replies offhandedly, surprised at himself when he feels like smiling.

Stiles raises an eyebrow almost in challenge. “I guess I’ll see you next Monday then?”

Derek nods, ignores the way his lips are curling upwards involuntarily and says, “I guess you will.”

*

“I knew you’d like him,” Lydia exclaims triumphantly over dinner that night.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “He’s an asshole, Lydia.”

“Perfect for you then,” she sniffs and he sticks his tongue out at her.

“But he’s good, right?” Scott asks, cutting their juvenile little argument short.

“Yeah, he’s really good,” Stiles admits quietly, feeling himself drift off a bit remembering what it was like to see Derek dance up close. He shakes himself out of it after a moment. “Doesn’t change the fact he’s a total ballbuster, he’s so by-the-book I don’t know how long we’re gonna last without killing each other.”

“Maybe you might complement each other,” Allison suggests. “Opposites attract and all that.”

“Pretty sure there’s no attracting going on between us,” Stiles snorts. “We got into a screaming match before we even started dancing.”

Lydia clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “I told you to make a good impression,” she chastises.

“Hey he agreed to dance with me again!” he points out defensively. “So clearly I’m doing something right.”

Lydia huffs and goes back to her food, Allison hides a laugh behind her hand before clearing her throat and giving Lydia a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Scott gives him a thumb’s up and an enthusiastic smile. His friends.

*

“So what’s Stilinski like?” Erica asks, swirling the cocktail in front of her with a straw.

“Exactly what you think he’s like. Loud, annoying, completely disregards any attempt at doing the same choreography more than once,” Derek lists off before taking a swig of his beer.

Erica lets out a laugh, turning her shrewd eye to Derek. “How is he still alive after a session with you then?”

Derek frowns. “I’m not that tyrannical.”

“Derek, you’ve made people _cry_  when they put a pointed toe out of line,” Erica giggles, taking another sip of her drink. “The only reason we lasted so long dancing together is because I’m the only one who knows how to put up with your crap.”

“I wish I was dancing with you,” Derek mutters glumly. It’d be so much easier if he was still dancing with her. He and Erica have everything figured out.

“No can do, honey. I’m leading my own recital,” she reminds him, leaning in to bump his shoulder with hers and giving him a dazzling grin. Derek rolls his eyes but he smiles because he’s proud of her and he can’t help it.

“Anyway,” Erica continues, sitting up straight again. “I think this could be good for you. It’s about time someone came along and forced you out of that little box you’re comfortable in. Stiles sounds like just the person to do it.”

“You really think so?” he asks sceptically.

Erica shrugs. “He’s talented, one of the best in our school, he’s unique and he stands out. Sounds like the perfect person to go toe to toe with you.”

*

Rehearsal is awful.

They fight over literally every tiny detail. Any novelty they had dancing together that first day has officially worn off.

Stiles spends most of his time either dodging Derek’s pointy elbows and telling him to  _extend his goddamn arms_ or trying to coax a smile out of him so he doesn’t look like he’s being sentenced to death and this is his last hurrah.

Derek’s not much better, yelling at Stiles every time he so much as puts a toe out of place. And  _god forbid_  Stiles not follow the agreed upon choreography for one tenth of a second because he wants to try something different.

Honestly the only reason Stiles hasn’t quit is because he knows they’re good. Aesthetically and skill-wise, they’re perfect for each other but he knows they’re still missing the emotional connection.

And he would just say forget it and crank out a routine before the solo competitions begin but there’s this tiny voice in his head telling him that if they keep working, if they keep trying,  _if they get that connection_ , they could have something really great.

*

They’re rehearsing, have been for hours. Stiles’ feet are aching and he feels a burn in his muscles every time he moves. He’s used to gruelling rehearsal time, especially coming up to performances, but Derek is pushing him hard. He hasn’t decided if he’s appreciative of it or not yet.

Derek’s face is set in firm concentration and Stiles can see all the way he’s berating himself as moves, mentally correcting his steps a millisecond after he makes them.

They only have half the choreography worked out for the piece and Derek won’t even consider working on the second half of the performance until they get it perfect.

Half keeping an eye on his reflection in the mirror and half watching Derek get more and more frustrated, Stiles sees him make a mistake that would be almost completely unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t in tune with Derek’s perfectionist tendencies.

It’s the breaking point and Derek snaps. He stops dancing and stomps over to the IPod dock to turn off the music. Stiles stills, sighing quietly as he watches Derek pace out his anger.

“Derek,” he says after a few minutes because all Derek seems to be doing is making himself even more annoyed.

“Why isn’t it working?” Derek asks desperately, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “Why can’t I-“

“You’re thinking too much,” Stiles softly, considering moving across the studio to offer Derek a comforting hug but he still doesn’t feel like they’re there yet. They can touch all they want when they’re dancing but there’s still a barrier between them in the real world.

“You’re so focused on getting every single movement technically perfect you’re forgetting to flow with the music,” he continues, hesitating a step before crossing the room and holding out a hand. “Come here.”

Derek eyes his hand warily for a moment before tentatively taking hold of it. Stiles doesn’t move straightaway, first crouching down and flicking through the playlist on his IPod to choose a song. Once he’s satisfied he stands up straight again and pulls Derek into the centre of the room.

“Don’t think,” he instructs gently, slipping his other hand into Derek’s. “Listen to the music.  _Feel_  it. Move whatever way you think you should move. Work with me.”

Derek’s looking at him like he wants to protest, make some snide comment about how this is stupid, but Stiles can see the traces of vulnerability in his expression as he nods his acquiescence.

The music grows louder and Stiles offers him one small, encouraging smile before he begins to move.

It’s not a perfect dance with flawless lines and extensions. It lacks finesse and it’s rough around the edges. It’s all languid turns and unhurried steps, sliding into each other’s space, a feather light brush of fingers over a shoulder, an arm, a hand. Stiles is barely aware of his own feet as Derek follows him half a step behind before taking the lead.

He doesn’t expect this.

He’d wanted Derek to loosen up, he didn’t think that would mean feeling like this. Feeling this overwhelming intensity in the pit of his stomach every time he locks eyes with Derek or electricity everywhere Derek touches him.

He  _knows_  Derek has inherent talent, he knows  _he_  has inherent talent, knows objectively they should complement each other well but this- this is unlike anything else Stiles has ever experienced.

As the music fades out they’re practically toe to toe and Stiles is breathing heavily despite not exerting himself that much. Derek’s eyes are blazing when they finally come to a standstill and there’s this wide-eyed look of wonder on his face.

Stiles forces himself to swallow hard before reminding himself to smile. “How did that feel?” he whispers, it feels like a whispering kind of moment.

“That was…” Derek trails away, eyes going unfocused before he blinks and locks his gaze with Stiles’ again. “It’s never felt like that before,” he whispers back.

Stiles can relate.

*                                        

Their invitational is at the beginning of October. They’ve only been dancing together for about six weeks and only the last two or three have involved any semblance of progress.

When Stiles got Derek to dance that day –  _really dance_ , however he wanted to, to remind him what it was all about in the first place – they reached a turning point. Ever since, rehearsals have been going better. They’re still hard on each other but they don’t snap as much, allowing a little leeway on both sides.

Derek feels like they’ve finally found that thing they were missing in the beginning. Having that connection, starting to find that middle ground between their two styles, it’s making everything fall into place so much easier.

The invitational is more of a formality than anything else.

They’re both well known in their respective circuits, are renowned past winners of solo and group competitions – everyone knows they’ll advance to the next round.

The performance leaves him with a distinct feeling of being watched – not in the sense of people judging their performance, more like people are watching  _them_. They’re an odd pairing, opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of technique, but he can feel the mild fascination rolling off their audience in waves.

It’s a bold move for them to choose to work together. People know they’re both headstrong, know they’re both the kind who need to take charge, it must make them wonder.

Make them curious as to whether this will sink Derek and Stiles’ careers or send them off into the stratosphere.

Derek’s wondering that himself.

*

Stiles watches Derek packing up his bag after rehearsals on Monday and decides to take a risk.

“Hey.”

Derek looks over his shoulder, pausing in zipping up his gear bag.

“Wanna go get coffee?” Stiles asks. His voice is tentative, hesitant, in a way that he generally hates. Derek’s not supposed to make his voice sound like that.

Derek doesn’t say anything as he fits his bag strap over his shoulder but then he turns to face Stiles, wearing a carefully guarded expression. “Coffee?” he repeats, like it’s a foreign concept.

“Yeah, coffee,” Stiles replies, feeling slightly more sure of himself. “You know that hot beverage that people drink to keep warm and stay awake?”

Derek only quirks an eyebrow in response so Stiles soldiers on. “Or they have hot chocolate too,” he lists. “Or brownies, or-”

Derek face remains impassive and then Stiles starts to think about how strict Derek is with dancing, how that probably translates over to his dietary habits.

“Or I could get coffee and you could get a…nice, healthy scone?” he finishes stiltedly, wincing at his own awkwardness

Derek laughs, a soft blink-and-you-miss-it sound. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you almost sound nervous.”

Stiles scoffs, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Me? Nervous? Never.”

Derek smirks, nods to himself more than anything else and says, “Let’s go get coffee.”

 

They go to the coffee shop on campus, it’s only a short walk from the studio.

Derek, surprisingly enough, actually does get coffee. When Stiles mentions it he looks down at his cup, smiling sheepishly, and says he figures he’s allowed to have a cheat day since they did well on Saturday.

It’s endearing in a way Stiles shouldn’t find it. Him and Derek are just starting to tolerate each other, now isn’t the time for complicating things.

“Saturday wasn’t perfect, you know,” Stiles says, idly swirling his coffee with one of those little stirrers.

Derek raises his eyebrows, setting down his drink. “Did I just hear you criticise our performance for not being clean enough?” he teases – it’s a side to him that’s starting to come out a bit more now, it suits him.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” Stiles sighs dramatically, slumping back in his chair.

Derek flashes him a grin, brings his drink up to his lips again and mumbles, “Maybe.”

*

Things smooth out between them.

Derek thinks it’s probably overexposure or something because the only way he can even think to describe their relationship right now is: they’re getting used to each other.

It makes it easier to communicate. Derek’s starting to learn to pick his battles, knows now when to push Stiles and when to let him be.

Stiles doesn’t really get that pinched up look on his face every time he thinks Derek’s lines are too stiff anymore either – which either means he thinks Derek’s improving or he’s sick of correcting him. He jokes a lot more, looks like he’s actually having fun, and Derek is suddenly realising how much Stiles must’ve been restraining himself the first few weeks.

He likes this better, likes the easy sort of trust they’ve built up now they’ve been dancing together for just under two months.

They’ve got sectionals the second week of December and Derek actually thinks they’ll be good. Not like their first performance – which was fine but was more about setting a pace than anything else - but that real, intangible  _magic_  he’s been getting flashes of ever since they started to loosen up around each other.

It’s there, waiting in the wings, and he just  _knows_  they’ll capture it by the time the competition rolls around.

*

They’re just finishing up their rehearsals for the day, sliding into their final positions as the music fades out when there’s suddenly the sound of applause from the door. Stiles breaks his gaze away from Derek’s and sees Lydia and Laura leaning against the wall by the entryway with satisfied smiles on their faces.

“Not bad,” Lydia says nonchalantly, pushing herself off the wall and sauntering into the studio.

“Some might even call it  _good_ ,” Laura adds airily, following behind her.

Stiles hears the exasperated noise Derek makes and he grins, rolling his eyes. “Well now that we know your majesties have given us their blessing,” he snorts, catching the towel Derek throws his way with a grateful smile.

“What do you want?” Derek asks, cutting straight to the point before taking a long pull from his water bottle.

“We’re just checking on progress,” Laura says, holding up her hands in surrender.

“It seems to be going well,” Lydia muses, her scrutinising gaze flitting between the two of them in a way that makes Stiles hot under the collar.

“Yeah, well we worked out our differences,” Stiles mutters noncommittally, slipping on his converse.

“I can see that,” Lydia nods and Stiles has long since learned not to trust the smirk on her face right now.

He shares a look with Derek who’s mostly just trying to avoid his sister’s eye.

“Is this an ambush?” Stiles wonders aloud.

Lydia sighs and Laura scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat. “You two are so paranoid.”

Derek gives her an incredulous look that Stiles guesses translates to, “Can you blame me with  _you_  as my sister?”

“How about we go out for dinner?” Lydia suggests suddenly. “You seem to be connecting well but you need more than that. You need to learn about each other! Form a relationship!”

“We have a relationship!” Stiles protests, only realising how it sounds when Lydia raises her eyebrows and he sees Derek freeze out of the corner of his eye. “A work relationship,” he clarifies, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, in any case,” Lydia continues as if he hadn’t even spoken. “It’s time you get to know each other outside the dance studio. I already called Scott and Allison, they’re meeting us at Laura’s apartment.”

“I invited Erica, Isaac and Boyd too,” Laura adds to Derek.

Stiles cranes his neck to look at Derek. Derek, for his part, raises an eyebrow in silent question and Stiles shrugs in a sort of ‘why the hell not?’ gesture. Derek’s shoulders slump and he blows out a breath but he nods.

Stiles turns back to Lydia and is about to agree to whatever the hell it is she’s planning when he notices the scrutinising look is back. It’s only then that Stiles realises he and Derek just had a silent conversation, it makes a weird kind of thrill rush through him.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he mutters, pointedly ignoring the predatory grin on Lydia’s face.

*

Derek has a brief respite getting from the studio to Laura’s since Stiles and Lydia are taking Stiles’ jeep. Well, he’s pretty naïve to think it’s a respite considering he’s in the car with  _Laura._  Let the interrogation begin.

“So how’s it going between you two?” she starts off casually – or, it would be casual if Derek couldn’t see right through her.

“Fine,” he answers in what he hopes is a voice that says the conversation is over before it’s even begun.

Laura, to her credit, doesn’t actually say anymore at first. Instead she just smiles smugly, humming under her breath until Derek can’t take it anymore.

“Just get your gloating over with,” he sighs in defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his head against the window.

“I  _told_  you so,” she says haughtily and Derek sighs louder. “I told you you two’d work, Der. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes.” It’s just easier to agree at this point.

Laura nods, satisfied. “Seriously though, all jokes aside, I really think tonight could benefit you both. It wouldn’t hurt to actually become friends with the guy, y’know?”

Derek hums noncommittally and Laura clucks her tongue. “I mean it, Derek. I know you like your whole antagonistic, ‘let’s pretend we hate each other even though we really don’t’ thing but you need to show the judges you have a bond. On that’s _not_  based on mutual distaste,” she adds emphatically.

“I get it,” he mumbles mutinously. “It’s just a slow process is all.”

“It’s been almost three months,” Laura argues incredulously.

“Like I said, slow process,” he responds distantly but really he’s too distracted thinking about how he and Stiles have been dancing together for nearly twelve weeks. Twelve weeks seeing each other four times a week, learning each other’s bodies and tells, circling into each other’s space and circling away, arguing about inane things and things that could change the entire fate of their performance.

It feels like it’s barely been days.

 

When they get to the parking lot of Laura’s apartment block he sees Erica, Isaac and Boyd convening around a motorbike with who he recognises as Scott and Allison that came to their invitational. As Laura’s parking the car he sees a familiar blue jeep pull up and Lydia and Stiles are piling out.

Laura doesn’t wait for him, hopping out of the car and dashing over to pull Erica into a hug.

Derek follows long-sufferingly, reaching the group in time to hear Isaac complain that he’s cold and he wants to go inside. As they start to move to the entrance of Laura’s building Stiles throws him a conspiratorial wink before strolling off with Scott. It makes something settle in Derek’s stomach.

Cora opens the apartment door with her usual charming greeting. (“Hurry up losers, the food’s gonna get cold.”)

The apartment the two of them share is more of a loft than anything else – that doesn’t mean they actually have ten seats in their living room.

The food is spread out on the coffee table and they pile onto cushions around it after Cora, Erica and Isaac claim the couch. Stiles is sitting across from him, legs folded gracefully underneath him. He’s laughing at something Allison’s telling him while Laura passes him the carton of fried rice and there’s the briefest moment where his eyes flick up and lock with Derek’s and his smile becomes the quiet kind of thing Derek only ever gets to see when they’re dancing. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment but Derek’s stomach is in knots for ages after it.

Conversation is light and easy for the most part. Derek’s been expecting his sisters or Erica to try and embarrass him, make a point about something between him and Stiles that isn’t even there but they don’t.

Everyone seems far more concerned with just enjoying each other’s company than having complicated allegorical conversations, which suits Derek just fine.

Somehow he and Stiles get stuck on dish duty – which is really toss out the take-out containers and load up the dishwasher duty. Stiles hauls himself up from his seat on the floor, gathering up some of the empty containers and yelling, “C’mon muscles! If you can lift  _me_ , you can lift a few measly plates,” over his shoulder with a laugh.

Derek bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t smile and rolls his eyes to cover it up. When he gets to the kitchen he sees Stiles wandering around with a frown on his face, eyes narrowed at all the cupboard doors.

“It’s the one next to the sink,” Derek says, taking pity on him.

Stiles looks over his shoulder at him and Derek smirks, nods his head in the direction of the sink. Stiles huffs, mutters something under his breath Derek can’t hear and opens the cupboard, locating the trash can and dumping the take-out containers.

Stiles turns around then, bumping the door closed with his hip and leaning against the counter, arms folded casually across his chest. “Need me to open the dishwasher for you?” he asks, somehow making _that_  sound teasing as he watches Derek manoeuvre around the kitchen island with a pile of plates.

“I can manage,” Derek scoffs, setting the plates on the draining board before moving to the dishwasher.

“Amateur,” Stiles mutters, a sly grin on his face when Derek looks up at him.

“Are you seriously criticising my ability to put plates in a dishwasher?” he asks incredulously.

“You’re a  _dancer,”_  Stiles sighs dramatically. “You should have enough balance and strength to hold them  _and_  open the dishwasher at the same time.”

“I’m a dancer,” Derek repeats, “not a waiter.”

Stiles snorts but Derek chooses to focus on the dishes instead. It’s too weird seeing Stiles in his kitchen, lounging around like he belongs.

“Are you gonna help me or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?” he grumbles a few minutes later when the silence becomes too much.

“Why Derek, did you just call me pretty?” Stiles asks breathlessly, bringing a hand to his chest before snickering. “I didn’t realise loading a dishwasher was a two person job,” he says then and he floats into Derek’s line of vision.

“Maybe I’m just trying to teach you discipline.”

Stiles laughs but he starts stacking plates anyway. “There are far better ways to teach me that,” he adds conversationally.

Derek almost drops the plate in his hand. When he looks up there’s a glint in Stiles’ eyes and he’s barely containing his smirk.

“You’re such a shithead,” Derek accuses indignantly. “Finish loading the plates, idiot.”

Stiles barks out another laugh but holds his hands up in surrender.  “You got it, boss.”

*

 “Stiles!” Derek yells after him, exasperated.

Stiles spins on his heel, grinning like a lunatic. “Nah-uh Derek! You said this dance is a cat and mouse chase and I don’t see you chasing me!” They’re not really dancing right now, Stiles has been trying to find a way to get them to connect with the playful, teasing feel of the song. They need to tell a story if they’re going to stand out in the next round.

He plants his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows in challenge, watches Derek mull it over in his head, can imagine the argument going on between Derek’s sensible side and the side of him that actually know how to have fun.

Stiles is just about to take off again when Derek says, “What if I wanted  _you_  to chase  _me?”_

Stiles almost trips over his own feet. That’s- Stiles knows objectively Derek’s attractive, okay, he does? But he’s pretty much overlooked that due to the fact Derek is the most uptight person he’s ever met and a general pain in his ass – and not in a good way. But it’s- it takes him a second to remember this is about dancing, not about…them.

So he smirks, gives Derek an “oh really?” look and laughs when Derek just looks back expectantly, lips slightly upturned at the corners.

Stiles heaves a put-upon sigh, bowing exaggeratedly, “Your wish is my command.”

Derek scoffs but starts walking backwards, keeping his eyes locked on Stiles.

Stiles feels his lips tug up involuntarily, starts stalking forward to match Derek’s pace. He’s trying to figure out when to quicken his strides, when to make the sudden lunge that’ll catch Derek off guard but Derek’s not watching his feet.

Derek’s watching his eyes.

He’s watching Stiles with so much intensity, like he’s daring Stiles to rush forward but he knows he won’t.

Stiles starts to move a little faster, adds a little spring to his step and hopes Derek doesn’t notice.

He has to bite down on his lip to keep from grinning, honestly.  _This_ \- this exciting, anticipatory feel is what he wanted to bring out of them. Moving towards Derek but never quite reaching him, the possibility of catching him at any moment, looking at each other and knowing no matter what they’ll end this together. It’s exhilarating.

Derek must’ve realised the distance between them has started to close because he picks up speed, literally  _dances_  out of Stiles’ grip and Stiles thinks, fuck it, and breaks into a run.

A laugh is punched out of him as Derek forgets all propriety and just flat out sprints across the studio using the ballet bar as a shield between them.

Stiles skids to a stop on the other side of it, feints left then right, trying to figure out which way Derek’s going to move.

It’s kind of unreal getting to see Derek like this; getting to see the carefree grin on his face, seeing his ridiculous competitiveness channelled into something as childish as this.

Eventually Derek pushes away from the bar, making a break towards the window. Derek’s fast but Stiles is faster, hesitating for only a second before tearing after Derek and latching onto him when he gets close enough.

To Derek’s credit, he’s a damn good dancer and he has really good instincts - which is why he and Stiles don’t go sprawling onto the floor like they should. Instead Derek somehow manages to turn at the last second before Stiles catches him, using Stiles’ momentum to pick him up.

There’s a moment where everything stands still and Stiles feels completely disoriented. When time settles again Stiles realises his legs are wrapped around Derek’s waist and his arms are draped over his shoulders and their faces are barely an inch apart.

His eyes are drawn to Derek’s mouth and it takes a lot longer than it should for him to remind himself to look away. Derek’s eyes are sparkling when he finally meets them.

“S’that cat and mouse enough for you?” he breathes. Stiles can feel his chest heaving against his own.

He wants to make a sarcastic remark and diffuse the tension. All he manages is a hitching breath and nodding silently.

*

“So anyway, we’ve gotta get the bus down to San Francisco on the Thursday after class so we’ll have some time to rehearse,” Stiles is saying while Scott nods along thoughtfully. “But you guys are gonna come down in time for the show, right?”

Scott grins, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course, dude! We wouldn’t miss it, you know that. Are you guys nervous?”

“Kind of?” Stiles replies. “I mean we’ve got the choreography locked down so I think we’re okay.”

“Your relationship seems to be doing better too,” Scott interjects.

Stiles starts to nod along before the words register. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Scott replies innocently. “I’m just saying you guys seem to be on better terms. You don’t complain about him as much anymore.”

“Yeah well, Derek doesn’t annoy me as much anymore,” Stiles allows. “At least not in the un-fun kind of way.”

Scott nods agreeably, a knowing smile on his face that Stiles knows better than to trust.

“Don’t even!” he starts and Scott holds up his hands defensively.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah well your face did,” Stiles huffs exasperatedly. “It’s not like that between us, Scott.”

“I believe you,” Scott says earnestly and Stiles relaxes back against the couch. “But,” he adds after a moment. “You might wanna think about why that’s where your brain immediately jumped to when I talked about your relationship.”

Yeah, Stiles’d rather not.

*

The mini bus to San Francisco is a little stifling. There’s a team of people with them; a couple of their teachers that’ve been helping them, Laura’s sitting in the seat in front of them talking loudly to Lydia, whose sitting in the seat across from her. Cora’s sitting in the seat across from him and Stiles with a couple of the kids from wardrobe, going over last minute details in their costumes. The fact that she’d even agreed to work with other people in making their outfits still baffles Derek.

Stiles sits beside him, his entire body a tense line. He’s got his earphones in and Derek knows he’s listening to their song on repeat, going over the dance in his head again and again.

He nudges Stiles’ arm with his own, smiling slightly when Stiles looks up at him and tugs his earphones out of his ears. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles blows out a breath, hits pause on his iPod and tilts his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “Just been a long time since I’ve had to focus on anyone but myself when I’m dancing, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Derek  _does_  know, has been pretty much solo since he stopped dancing with Erica. He’s not used to taking care of someone else on stage or making a connection with anyone besides the audience. It’s a lot easier with Stiles than he expects though. “But we’ve got this. We’re good.”

Stiles gives him a sidelong glance, nodding eventually. “Well if  _you_  think so…” he says teasingly, laughing lightly.

“I do,” he says certainly, suddenly realising just how sure he is they can do this.

“Okay,” Stiles murmurs, closing his eyes again. “I trust you.”

*

Stiles kind of blacks out for their performance.

He’s aware, idly, of the audience. Can just about hear the music and knows his cues. But mostly all he can remember is Derek’s hands on him and his hand on Derek’s. He knows they’re doing well, knows there hasn’t been any slip ups, but honestly it just feels like his vision is swimming and all he can see is Derek.

Derek grins at him, acts playful, plays the part they both designed and Stiles does the same but the fission of tension every time their hands brush doesn’t feel fake.

The way Derek hugs him tight at the end amid the roaring crowd doesn’t feel fake either.

*

Derek loses Stiles in the frenzy after they’re announced in first place.

He remembers them latching onto each other and Stiles hugging him like his life depended on it and yelling, “We did it!” in his ear. But as soon as they go back stage everyone descends upon them and Derek is enveloped in about six hugs at once.

When he cranes his neck to try and spot Stiles all he gets is an armful of Erica and Laura pulling on his shirt, insisting they have to celebrate.

He nods absently, still scanning the room. It isn’t until he’s managed to pry his sisters and Erica off him in favour of getting changed that he actually gets to see Stiles.

He stumbles into the dressing a few minutes after Derek, a lipstick mark on his cheek, flushed face and bright smile.

He comes to abrupt stop when he sees Derek, lips tugging up in a crooked smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Congratulations.” Stiles rocks on his heels, clasps his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You too,” Derek says, tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him to reach out for Stiles.

They stand in silence then, looking at each other with what Derek can really only call anticipatory expressions until Stiles throws his hands up in the air and rolls his eyes, marching forward to pull Derek into a hug.

Derek winds his arms around him like it’s instinct – it pretty much is at this point – and feels the sense of being overwhelmed finally dissipate.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Stiles mumbles against his shoulder and Derek tightens his grip.

“Nobody else could keep up with me anyway,” he whispers jokingly. The look on Stiles’ face when he pulls back says he knows Derek’s not joking and he isn’t either.

So Derek just settles for knocking their temples together for an instant and releasing him.

“We should get changed,” he says stiltedly, moving to the dressing table and away from Stiles. “I know Laura wants to take us out.”

Stiles hums behind him, pausing a second before Derek hears him moving to the clothes rail. It’s only then that he finally lets out the breath he’s been holding.

*

The bar/club/whatever the hell you want to call it where they’re celebrating is  _loud_.

Not loud the same way an actual dance club would be loud but still loud enough that Stiles can barely hear himself think. Lydia is sipping a martini, chatting animatedly with Cora and Laura. Allison’s next to her, leaning into Scott while she tastes his drink. Erica’s already dragged poor Boyd onto the dance floor and Stiles hasn’t seen them in a few minutes. Isaac is off flirting with probably anything that moves and Derek is sitting opposite Stiles.

They keep making eye contact and then looking away again like they’re little kids with embarrassing crushes. Stiles manages to sit through about ten minutes of this before he huffs and stands up, offering a hand to Derek. “Come on.”

Derek frowns, looking at the rest of the table but absolutely no one is paying attention to them – except maybe Scott who gives Stiles a subtle thumb’s up.

After a moment’s deliberation Derek allows Stiles to pull him along until they get to the edge of the dance floor and then he stops. “No,” he says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes his biceps strain against his t-shirt and Stiles’ brain short-circuits.

But then he shakes his head and strolls purposefully onto the floor, spinning around and making a face at Derek.

“Jesus! When’s the last time you actually went dancing for  _fun?”_  Stiles is yelling, crooking his finger seductively to beckon Derek forward before erupting into a fit of laughter and latching onto Derek’s hand, pulling him into the crowd.

*

“How much have you had to drink?” Derek wonders aloud as someone bumps into Stiles, sending him careening into Derek’s arms.

“Not a drop,” Stiles huffs against his cheek, righting himself a moment later and slinging his arms around Derek’s neck. “Now  _dance!”_  he exclaims, automatically moving his hips to the beat.

“I don’t like this kind of music,” Derek frowns, letting his hands drift to Stiles’ waist anyway.

“Want me to sing something instead?” Stiles yells over the thumping bass before pressing forward until they’re chest to chest, his temple bumping against Derek’s and his lips hot on Derek’s ear.

Stiles starts singing under his breath, fingers idly dancing up the back of Derek’s neck to play with his hair and Derek finds himself squeezing Stiles’ hips hard in an attempt not to shudder.

He feels Stiles’ lips curve against his ear, knows he’s smirking – the fucker – and tries to regain some sort of control. But Stiles keeps singing, only loud enough for Derek to hear but it blocks everything else out. Derek can’t hear the music in the club or see anyone else beyond Stiles. His voice is gravelly, just loud enough that it carries a tune but Derek feels it in his  _bones_ , whispering over his skin, spinning in his head.

All the while Stiles keeps moving his hips and at some point Derek must’ve started moving with him because now their hips are slotting together and Derek feels like he can’t breathe.

His head drops onto Stiles’ shoulder involuntarily and Stiles stutters for a second before picking up the tune again, fingers squeezing Derek’s hips. Derek smirks to himself, turning and nosing at Stiles’ neck and sliding one of his hands off Stiles’ hip to slip around his back, tugging at his t-shirt. Stiles draws a sharp intake of breath but keeps singing, voice sounding far more affected than it did a second ago.

Derek trails his nose along Stiles’ jaw and he hears a hissed out, “Fuck,” before Stiles’ hands are moving to cup Derek’s face and he’s turning his head to pull Derek into a searing kiss.

Derek gasps but Stiles only chases his breath, pushing himself closer and using the opportunity to slide his tongue into Derek’s mouth.

Derek kisses back, digging his fingers into the small of Stiles’ back in a vain attempt to ground himself so he doesn’t get lost in the feel of Stiles’ lips against his.

It could be minutes or hours later when Stiles pulls back an inch, breathing out, “Go-  _We need to go_!” into the space between their mouths and reaching behind him to catch onto one of Derek’s hands. He drags Derek off the dance floor and out into the cool open air. Derek barely notices him hailing a cab, just wraps his arms around Stiles from behind and starts kissing his neck.

Stiles leans into him, swaying, until the car pulls up and then he huffs a laugh, elbowing Derek lightly to make him stop and tugging him into the taxi.

*

Stiles doesn’t remember anything about the cab ride back to the hotel besides Derek’s mouth. He doesn’t remember the elevator ride or which one of their rooms they’re even in right now. All he knows is that he’s been tumbling since they were on the dance floor – tumbling out of the club, into a cab, out of the cab, into the elevator, into a room, onto a bed.

He loses his clothes along the way, has some recollection of burning hot fingers trailing up his sides and pushing his t-shirt with it. He can vaguely recall unbuckling Derek’s belt and shoving his jeans down but then he gets caught up in the haze of  _Derek_ again.

There’re moments where everything slows, where time comes to an almost standstill and Stiles feels his chest constrict. Sometimes Derek pauses for a second – only ever a second – and gives him the most heartbreakingly sweet smile that Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to besides pulling him down into another kiss. And then there’re moments where Stiles gets lost mapping out every inch of Derek’s skin with his fingers and his tongue.

It’s too much and it’s not enough and Stiles can’t breathe but the burn in his lungs just makes him want to kiss Derek harder, longer.

It happens in a blur. A hazy, dizzying blur.

Derek’s fingers working him open, Derek’s soft nonsensical words being pressed into the skin of his neck and collarbone, Derek pushing in slowly –  _so slowly_ , Stiles is about to go out of his mind.

Derek leans his forehead heavily against his and Stiles can feel his drawn out breaths mingling with his own. Stiles makes a feeble attempt to kiss him that mostly ends with him exhaling stuttering breaths into Derek’s mouth and Derek swallowing down his broken off moans.

When it ends Derek’s head thunks down onto his chest and Stiles blows out a breath, idly aware of the way it ruffles the tips of Derek’s hair while he tries to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. Absently he runs a hand up Derek’s side, uses his other hand to finds Derek’s and tangle their fingers together.

It feels like eons later when Derek finally picks his head up off Stiles’ chest and inches forward to kiss him soundly. Stiles kisses back, can’t even remember a time when he _wasn’t_  kissing Derek.

Derek moves off him then, heading to the bathroom to find something to clean them up with. Stiles is asleep before he even gets back.

*

Derek wakes up feeling more comfortable than he can ever remember being on a hotel bed. His limbs feel heavy with sleep, like they’re weighted to the bed.

It isn’t until he yawns and squeezes his eyes shut tighter for a second that last night comes flooding back to him. His eyes fly open and realises his limbs feel weighted to the bed because Stiles is half-sprawled on top of him.

His head is resting just under Derek’s chin and his arm is draped across Derek’s chest, hand loosely linked with Derek’s while one of his legs is thrown over Derek’s.

Derek remains very still as Stiles starts to stir. He snuffles slightly, burying closer to Derek’s chest for a second before going back to his earlier position. He can feel Stiles’ eyelashes flutter against his chest and Stiles’ hand spasms slightly in his and then he’s waking up.

Stiles heavily lifts his head, one eye cracked open. There’s a split second where he smiles lazily at Derek before he seems to remember where he is and wrenches himself away like he’s been burned, shooting up into a sitting position.

“I- I’m- I-“ he stutters, looking at Derek with wide, shocked eyes.

“Good morning to you too,” Derek huffs, voice rough with sleep. He hauls himself up into sitting against the headboard, raising his eyebrows at Stiles.

Stiles looks down, face flushing. “Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly. “Morning.”

“Wanna go get breakfast?” Derek refuses to let this be awkward. They’re both adults, they can handle this without one of them scurrying out of the room and pretending like it never happened.

Stiles’ head snaps up in surprise and he studies Derek carefully for a minute before a slow smile spreads across his face and he nods. “Yeah.”

 

Stiles is oddly quiet when they meet in the hotel restaurant for breakfast – he’d slipped out of Derek’s room to change clothes in his own suite. He picks at his eggs and bacon, mostly just pushing it around his plate, and Derek wants to make a crack about how he needs his protein but the air feels weirdly heavy between them.

When Derek is halfway through his fruit salad Stiles draws in a deep breath and  _finally_  looks up from his plate.

“So last night,” he starts.

Derek watches him, slowly setting down his fork and settling his hands on his knees so Stiles won’t see him fidgeting. He’s so not prepared to admit his feelings. He doesn’t know how to tell Stiles that last night was completely unexpected but meant more than he can really say. He never in a million years expected to fall for Stiles but seeing him sitting across from him - his hair still all messed up from sleep, his lips still slightly swollen from Derek kissing him and nervously running his fingers over the silverware on the table - Derek  _wants_.

He smiles slightly, ready to try and fumble his way through something resembling an acceptable, “I want to date you.”

“It was-“

“A mistake, I  _know_ ,” Stiles sighs, forehead dropping onto where he’s folded his hands in front of him on the table.

Derek starts – immediately grateful Stiles has his head in his hands and can’t see him. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought maybe- but then maybe not.

Stiles looks up again, anxiously chewing the inside of his cheek. “I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he says earnestly – so sincere, so worried Derek’ll be upset with him for potentially having feelings. “I guess we were just hyped up from our performance, huh?” He gives a little self-deprecating laugh and Derek has to restrain himself from reaching across the table and kissing him breathless.

“But we’re adults, right?” Stiles asks. “We can still be friends and work together and stuff without making it weird.” He says it like a question but Derek can’t even focus on that when all he can think of is the irony of Stiles using the exact same reasoning Derek had this morning for admitting they were attracted to each other.

“Sure,” he says faintly, giving Stiles a tight smile he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can still be friends.”

*

Stiles expects their first rehearsal back after San Francisco to be awkward.

He’s not wrong.

But it’s not awkward for the reasons he’s been thinking. He thought they’d be fumbling around each other, trying to re-establish boundaries. Instead it seems like Derek is trying way too hard to act like he’s okay. He’s reserved and quiet and it reminds Stiles of when they first started dancing together. Except at least then they had the respite of arguing to break up the uncomfortable silences.

Stiles makes it through about thirty minutes of a pretty much one-sided conversation regarding song choices for their next performance before he cracks. He sighs and shuts off the iPod, seemingly finally rousing Derek out of his own head as he blinks and meets Stiles’ eye for probably the first time all day.

“Dude,” Stiles says flatly.

Derek’s face remains blank but Stiles has gotten used to reading him – Derek’s face is blank because he wants it to be. “What?” he asks unassumingly.

“This is weird.”

Derek’s eyes widen a fraction before the mask descends again. “I- no, it’s not. It’s fine Stiles. Really.”

“It’s not,” Stiles retorts bluntly. “You’re obviously uncomfortable about what happened last weekend.”

“We agreed this wouldn’t be weird,” Derek says instead of actually answering him.

“We did,” Stiles nods. “But are you seriously gonna tell me the last half hour has felt normal?”

Derek opens his mouth like he’s about to protest before closing it again and looking down at his hands.

“Look I get it,” Stiles says gently and Derek’s head snaps up again. “What happened was…unexpected but we can’t let it affect our performance, Derek, okay? We’re halfway there.”

Derek shakes himself a bit before nodding. “You’re right. Sorry, let’s just- keep going.” He smiles, not the one Stiles is used to seeing, but he figures it’s as good an olive branch as he’s gonna get right now.

“Don’t worry,” he shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like I’m gonna fall in love with you or anything.”

He grins, about to turn back to the iPod, only to frown slightly when he sees the almost disappointed look on Derek’s face out of the corner of his eye.

He’s probably just imagining it.

*

In the last two weeks since San Francisco Derek has sort of come to the conclusion that he’s about one more lingering look away from falling hopelessly in love with Stiles.

He could deal with it – kind of is dealing with it regardless – if it weren’t for the fact that Stiles keeps reiterating that there are no feelings between them. And he’d be mad if Stiles wasn’t so unbelievably sincere about it all. He’s only saying it because he thinks it’s what Derek needs to hear to feel comfortable again when all it’s doing is making Derek want to pull away even further.

He pushes through it though because sometimes Stiles looks at him when he’s caught up in their dance and Derek  _swears_  he can see that same look in his eyes he saw that night.

They’re having trouble exiting a lift – the lift itself is small, there’re just too many limbs in the way for them to flow out of it seamlessly. Stiles huffs frustratedly when his legs get tangled again and slouches against Derek for a second before straightening and letting go.

“Can we try it without the music for a sec?” he asks, ambling over to the iPod dock. “I think it’s putting me off.”

“Sure,” Derek replies, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. Stiles spins on his heel, facing him with a grin.

They get back into their positions right before the lift and Stiles counts them in under his breath. Dancing without the music is always methodical for them, nothing more than a way for them work and re-work choreography but this feels different.

Feels intimate.

Stiles is only a hair’s breath away, giving Derek  _that look_  again and the room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. The only sounds Derek hears are Stiles’ measured breaths and the faint sound of their skin and clothes sliding against each other. They move into the lift and Stiles’ forehead brushes his, their breaths mingled for an instant. Derek barely has the brain capacity to remember to turn Stiles in his arms and set him down again.

Stiles drifts out of his arms gracefully, twists back around with a triumphant smile.

Derek can feel himself staring, is so used to being allowed to openly do so when they dance he can’t even remind himself to look away. Eventually he shakes himself out of it and clears his throat. “That was better.”

“Better?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Psh, that was  _perfect_. Told you the music was throwing me off.”

Derek huffs a laugh, shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Get back over here and do it again.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles says sternly, saluting like a soldier before launching himself at Derek.  Derek catches him with an undignified sounding, “oof,” and rolls his eyes when Stiles smirks.

“You realise if I’d fallen and broken something you would’ve been out a dance partner, right?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” Stiles scoffs, wriggling in his arms until his legs are comfortably braced on either side of Derek’s hips. “I totally would’ve broken your fall.”

“Then _I’d_  be out a dance partner,” Derek points out.

Stiles makes a face and smacks his shoulder. “Will you shut up about semantics and  _dance with me?”_

*

Stiles loves to dance but sometimes- sometimes it’s hard.

Sometimes he can’t focus and no amount of Adderall in the world helps. Derek’s being too good to him, letting him do completely random steps that aren’t even slightly related to their routine but it’s not helping.

Competitions rarely get the better of him but the pressure can be paralysing sometimes when he starts thinking about it too much – it’s  _always_ on seemingly normal, inconspicuous days.

He hates days like this – they make him feel angry and frustrated and give him the ridiculous feeling of wanting to cry. He’s supposed to be stronger than this.

He tries to push himself, tries to keep up with Derek but after he messes up for the umpteenth time he stops. Derek watches him carefully but picks up the remote to stop the music.

“Can we just-“ Stiles huffs out a frustrated sigh, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Can we just take a break?”

“Okay.” Derek’s got an open expression on his face, a kind of wariness in the way he’s standing, like he’s afraid of spooking Stiles.

He pads across the room in measured steps, tentatively holds a hand out to Stiles. Stiles stares at it for a moment, has a split-second thought that this means a lot more than it appears, and takes Derek’s hand.

Derek draws him close, lets Stiles drop his head onto his shoulder and wind his arms around him. Derek’s hands splay out on his back and he takes a deep, measured breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles after a while when he feels like it’s probably about time people in a platonic relationship should pull away but he can’t bring himself to let go.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs. “Wanna get out of here?”

Stiles nods, turns his head in towards Derek’s neck for just a second before loosening his grip. Derek only pulls back to fit Stiles under his arm and leads them to the door, grabbing both their gear bags on the way.

Stiles doesn’t say anything when Derek guides them both to his car, doesn’t have the energy to insist he can drive himself home. He just climbs into the passenger seat, fastens his seatbelt and leans his head against the window, finally letting his eyes drift shut.

He must fall asleep on the drive home because when he opens his eyes again they’re outside Derek’s apartment block.

He looks over at Derek to ask what they’re doing but Derek beats him to it.

“I just figured you might not wanna be alone?”

“Scott’s at home,” Stiles finds himself saying faintly and Derek’s face falls slightly.

“Right. Sorry, I should-“

Stiles reaches out a hand and stops him from turning the keys in the ignition. “It’s okay. I wanna stay.”

Derek gets the barest hint of a smile on his face and he nods, closing his keys in his palm.

Derek’s apartment is like him; carefully laid out and neat, a little impersonal until you dig beneath the surface and find the photographs of Derek squeezed in between his sisters with a long-suffering, yet fond look on his face.

Stiles toes off his shoes and heads for the couch, doesn’t have the presence of mind for etiquette right now.

He flops down, tips his head against the back of it and covers his face with his hands, taking a deep calming breath.

He feels the couch dip next to him and lets his hands slide off his face, rolling his head to the side. Derek’s watching him quietly, after a moment’s deliberation he reaches out, pulling Stiles into him.

He allows himself to be tucked into Derek’s side, curling his legs up underneath him and letting his head drop onto Derek’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, it’s strange feeling Derek’s skin under his lips as they move. Not a bad strange though.

He hears Derek whisper, “No problem,” and then it all fades out and his mind finally quietens down.

“Why did you start dancing?” Stiles asks quietly a moment later. He can’t really believe he’s never wondered before.

“My mom enrolled me in ballroom classes when I was a kid.” There’s a smile in his voice when he talks, a fond wistfulness that Stiles identifies with all too well.

Still, he laughs softly because he thinks Derek needs him to and presses closer. “Seriously? Ballroom? So you can teach me how to waltz?” he asks slyly.

Derek snorts, absently rubs Stiles’ arm. “I’ll let you stand on my feet until you figure it out.”

“Such a gentleman,” Stiles simpers, even if it sounds a little bit too sincere to his own ears.

“What about you?” Derek prompts when they fall silent again.

“Uh same, kind of,” Stiles mumbles, staring down at his hands until Derek takes hold of one of them. “My mom used to do ballet and when my parents found out I had ADHD they thought dancing might be a good way for me to get rid of all that excess energy, help me focus, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Derek says softly, resting his chin on top of Stiles’ head. “Sounds like she was right.”

“I hope so.” Stiles’ voice sounds thick and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to cry, he’s been so good about not crying today.

Derek’s arm tightens around him, lips pressing into Stiles’ hair – not quite kissing, more like a comforting weight. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs and Stiles forces himself to breathe, turning his face towards Derek’s neck.

When he wakes up it’s the middle of the night and there’s a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked up around him. He falls back to sleep with the faint scent of Derek surrounding him and a smile on his face.

*

The weeks between Sectionals and Regionals seem even shorter than the time between their earlier competitions. Their days are a haze of classes, rehearsals, meetings with wardrobe, “progress meetings” with Laura and Lydia and more rehearsal.

Stiles calls an official night of relaxation two days before they leave for Regionals. “We’ve worked our asses off, dude, we can afford to take three hours off to have dinner with our friends,” he reasons when Derek tries to protest.

They’ve pretty much been having dinner with each other every day for the past six weeks anyway when rehearsals run long or one of their friends inevitably shows up and drags them to a diner or something. Tonight they go to Scott and Stiles’ place and Stiles practically kisses Scott as soon as he comes through the door and sees the food spread out across the coffee table.

“I love you, Scotty,” Stiles says seriously, clutching Scott’s biceps. “Truly, I do.”

“Sounds like you’ve got competition,” Erica comments musingly as she brushes past him. Derek only feels a little bit bad about tripping her.

Scott beams happily, patting Stiles’ arm absently. “I know Derek says no take-out because you guys are being healthy so I figured home cooked but delicious would make you both happy.” Scott looks at Derek then, hopeful smile on his face that becomes an all-out grin when Derek smiles back.

“Ugh you’re my favourite,” Stiles groans before dropping down onto the couch and grabbing a plate.

Conversation settles down pretty quickly. The focus is mainly on Erica and her upcoming recital – everyone knows better by now than to ask Derek or Stiles how they’re doing – before smaller conversations peter off.

It’s nice. Derek hasn’t felt this kind of familiarity with so many people in a long time. Having Stiles’ shoulder pressed against him as an ever-present comforting weight helps too.

Eventually people start to leave, filtering out until it’s just him and Stiles sitting cross-legged on the couch with hot chocolate – of all things. “Are you nervous about this weekend?” Stiles whispers, clutching his mug tightly between his hands.

“I’d be insane not to be nervous,” Derek says, staring absently at the steam rising from his cup before meeting Stiles’ gaze. “But I think I’ll be okay as long as you’re up there with me.”

Stiles starts before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Do you think if you’d told yourself that six months ago you would’ve believed it?”

“Not a chance,” Derek laughs. “I’m glad it’s true now though.”

Stiles gives him a look that fills Derek with yearning and says, “Me too,” with a smile. Then he stretches out one socked-foot and nudges Derek’s knee. “You’re not so bad, Hale.”

Derek does a poor attempt at concealing his smile and nods. “You too.”

*

It’s late.

Stiles is dragging his feet to the elevator. They got in about noon and, after a brief lunch, have been rehearsing ever since. Derek looks just as exhausted, stumbling into the elevator with his eyes barely open. He slumps against the wall when the door dings shut and Stiles settles next to him, lasting all of five seconds before he starts leaning heavily against Derek’s side, dropping his head onto Derek’s shoulder.

Derek doesn’t acknowledge it other than to lift his arm so Stiles can settle more comfortably against him and draping it around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles tries valiantly to ignore the way his heartbeat picks up in his chest, choosing instead to focus on Derek’s steady breathing.

The elevator ride is far too short but Derek doesn’t pull away as they leave, keeps his arm around Stiles as they walk down the hall, supporting his weight. When they reach their rooms Derek kisses his forehead before he pulls away and Stiles’ breath catches. He does it absently, like it’s out of habit, like he does it all the time. Stiles feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“Night,” Derek mumbles sleepily as he lets Stiles slide out of his grip.

“Night,” Stiles croaks out, rushing into his room before Derek can see the flush on his face.

It’s an hour later and he’s showered, gotten changed into pyjama bottoms and the t-shirt he wears to bed but he still feels jittery. Can’t force himself to lie down even though he’s bone-tired. He can’t stop thinking about Derek and the way he kissed his forehead before they parted.

He thought what happened between them in San Francisco was just sexual tension that had overflown from their performance but what if it wasn’t?

Stiles has known for a while now he has feelings for Derek, used to think that Derek was physically attracted to him, if nothing else. But now he’s thinking it might mean more.

In a split second decision he’s off his bed, stumbling out of his room and banging on Derek’s door next to his. It takes a second but then Derek is appearing, sleep soft and rumpled.

There’re so many things Stiles wants to say. He wants to confess his feelings and kiss the breath out of Derek. He wants Derek to take one look at him and tell him he’s liked him all along. He wants them to say nothing at all and fall into a kiss, tripping inside and onto the bed.

What ends up coming out of his mouth is, “I can’t sleep.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, only raising a dubious eyebrow, but when Stiles doesn’t offer up anything else he huffs out a little laugh and swings the door open.

He doesn’t wait for Stiles, just crosses the room again and climbs back into bed so Stiles closes the door behind him. It’s only after a moment’s hesitation that he pads across the room and crawls in beside Derek.

They’ve only done this once before – under much different circumstances – but Stiles can’t help but revel in the way he immediately settles with Derek’s comforting weight beside him.

Derek rolls over to face him when Stiles stops moving. His face is so close they’re just shy of touching and he smiles – a soft kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the corner. Stiles smiles back, throat feeling dry as he tentatively reaches out and brushes his fingers through Derek’s hair, sweeping it back off his face.

Derek’s eyes droop shut and he leans into the touch. Stiles takes a second to gather his courage and leans forward, pressing his lips to Derek’s forehead like Derek did to him in the hallway. When he pulls back Derek’s eyes are open again and he’s watching him curiously.

Stiles gives him another tremulous smile, exhaling a shaky breath when Derek shuffles forward a bit, tangling their legs together and sliding a hand over Stiles’ waist to tug him closer as he presses his forehead to Stiles’.

That’s how Stiles falls asleep. It’s a pretty good way to fall, honestly.

*

Stiles sits in front of the mirror in his dressing room, is on his fourth deep breath when two hands clamp down on his shoulders. His eyes fly open and he meets Derek’s gaze in the mirror.

“You okay?” Derek asks, lightly massaging his shoulders.

Stiles nods mutely, bites down on the inside of his lip so he doesn’t do something stupid like mewl contentedly at the way Derek’s fingers are zeroing in on the tension between his shoulders blades.

Derek’s reflection smirks at him and Stiles is ninety-nine percent positive he knows what he’s doing. Dick.

Thirty seconds later and Stiles is a veritable puddle of goo, leaning into Derek’s touch until his head falls back to bump against Derek’s chest and he closes his eyes.

He hears Derek’s huffy laugh from above him and then the hands on his shoulders are stilling and Derek’s mouth is right by his ear. “We’re gonna be fine,” he whispers and Stiles gets that it’s supposed to be reassuring, he does, but he just about manages to control his shiver.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Derek’s face next to his own, they’re wearing almost identical expressions – ones that hold far too much weight.

They look at each other for too long - they always look at each other for too long – but then Cora’s calling Derek away to fix his collar or something and Derek steps back, hands slowly sliding off Stiles’ shoulders.

“I’ll see you out there,” he murmurs, nods once at Stiles’ reflection.

“See you out there,” Stiles echoes.

*

Standing on the stage waiting for the results is nerve-wracking enough without Derek standing stiff as a board next to him. He won’t look at Stiles, won’t look anywhere but straight ahead, staring unseeingly at the curtain hiding the crowd.

It’s gonna go up soon and there’ll be cheers and the announcer and trophies and Stiles is panicking slightly. The invitational was a piece of cake compared to this. This has actual  _rankings_.

And Derek looking like he’s gonna burst a blood-vessel isn’t helping Stiles’ stress levels.

“Hey,” he whispers, feeling his shoulders sag slightly when Derek actually  _looks_  at him.

He ignores his own nerves and smiles at Derek, holding his hand out, palm up. “Hold my hand.”

Derek stares at his hand dumbfounded, before he slowly drags his gaze up to meet Stiles’ eyes. Stiles doesn’t know what he finds there but a second later Derek’s taking his hand and lacing their fingers together tightly. He lets them fall between them just as the curtains goes up.

*

Derek’s mind feels fuzzy around the edges. He’s been passing the bottle of JD back and forth with Stiles for what feels like hours.

They could’ve been downstairs celebrating with everybody else. They probably  _should be,_ honestly, but neither of them are really feeling up to it. Competitions are exhausting and all those people can be unbelievably overwhelming. Besides they stayed long enough to talk to the important ones.

Derek likes this party better anyway – just the two of them in Stiles’ hotel room, lying on the plush carpet with a half-empty bottle of celebratory Jack Daniels that they swiped from the open bar downstairs, talking about stupid inconsequential things.

“We did really good today,” Stiles is saying, words slurring slightly, before he pauses to take another slug from the bottle. “You did good.”

Derek huffs but it sounds like a laugh and sits up a bit to take the bottle from Stiles. “So did you,” he mutters, the rim of the bottle pressing against his lower lip. “You were amazing.”

He hopes it comes out muffled, hopes Stiles is too buzzed to really hear or care. It’s too close to the truth, too close to him adding something stupid like, “You’re always amazing.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything though, just hums happily and holds out his hand for the bottle. Derek passes it back obligingly, staring up at the pattern on the ceiling. He hears Stiles’ laugh ring out to his right and when he rolls his head to the side he sees Stiles holding the bottle upside down over his face. He looks to the side and grins at Derek.

“We drained it, dude.”

Derek has an acute feeling in the back of his head that that’s a bad thing but just finds himself laughing. Stiles gets this inexplicable smile on his face when he does and it makes Derek’s heart speed up.

Stiles shifts a bit then, rolling onto his side so he’s fully facing Derek. “Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly.

Derek nods his head as best he can with it swivelled to the side.

“I really wanna kiss you,” Stiles whispers after a beat, smile still somehow evident in his voice.

Derek’s entire brain shuts down when the words first sink in. Stiles wants to  _kiss him_.  _He_  wants to kiss Stiles. This is- this is exactly what he wants. He-

…Stiles is drunk and probably doesn’t realise what he’s saying.  _Derek_  is drunk and shouldn’t be making any major, potentially damaging, decisions right now.

So he sighs, hates himself just a tiny bit, and hauls himself up. When he’s finally standing he stumbles a few steps over to Stiles and holds out a hand.

Stiles looks excited for a second, swaying on his feet when he’s finally standing. He’s already starting to lean in. Derek swallows hard before putting his hands on Stiles’ arms and stopping him, shaking his head.

Stiles pauses, looks faintly disappointed but doesn’t protest as Derek leads him to the bed, just sits down dutifully when Derek places his hands on his shoulders.

When he’s actually lying down, staring up at Derek with wondering eyes, Derek clumsily tucks him in. He crouches down for a second, places a soft kiss on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles’ eyes flutter when he pulls away before he blinks a couple of times and looks up at Derek slightly confusedly, slightly in awe.

“Will that do?” Derek asks, feeling like his voice is stuck in his throat. He teetering on a dangerous edge right now, he needs to tread carefully or he’s going to ruin everything.

Stiles though, Stiles just smiles up at him and nods before mumbling out something faintly resembling, “Night Derek.”

Derek reminds himself to smile back and slips out of the room.

*

They start to rehearse a lot more.

Nationals is in May and they’ve got just over eight weeks to get a routine perfect. It means rehearsals in their apartments get added to their regular schedule at the studio. It becomes weirdly normal for Derek to always be at Stiles’ or vice versa. Scott barely even bats an eyelid anymore when he stumbles out of his room in the morning and finds them asleep on the couch.

Stiles has to admit, despite the stress and the pressure, he really likes his life right now. He likes his life with Derek in it, fitting into all the cracks and crevices. Derek lets him rant, Derek lets Stiles rest his head on his shoulder when he’s tired, Derek pushes him, Derek can meet him barb for barb with sarcastic remarks.

He’s good.  _They’re_  good.

Stiles knows there’s something between them – something that makes their relationship different to the one he has with Scott or Lydia or anyone else.

Denial made him think it was just association with the roles they put on in their performances but he knows by now that that’s a pretty lousy excuse. He can’t remember what happened the night they won regionals but he does have fuzzy memories of lying on the floor with Derek and some vague flicker of Derek helping him into bed. More than anything though he remembers wanting to kiss Derek so bad he had to bite his tongue more than once to stop himself from blurting it out.

He’s starting to think Derek might feel something back though. He can see it in the way their looks linger now even when they’re not dancing and how they sit closer together and crash at each other’s places when they’re rehearsing late.

Stiles figures he could say something – maybe he should – but there’s this feeling of anticipation whenever he’s around Derek now that makes him feel like his stomach’s gonna be doing flips for hours. It’s making him dance better, it’s helping them pull off the story they’re trying to tell.

So he thinks he can wait just a little bit longer.

*

Erica waves Derek over as soon comes through the door of the bar. He slides into the stool next to her and she pushes a bottle of beer over to him. “You can get the next round,” she grins with a half-shrug before he can even try to pay her back.

“Thanks,” he says, laughing lightly and slipping off his jacket. “How’s the recital going?”

“My feet hurt and I think I’m losing my voice from yelling at people doing the wrong steps but other than that,  _swimmingly_.” Erica throws him a winning smile and he snorts.

“And you call me a drill sergeant.”

“You  _are_ ,” Erica says bluntly. “That’s why we danced so well together.”

 “Can’t argue with you there,” Derek scoffs.

“Though I think you like your new partner better,” Erica continues offhandedly, fluttering her eyelashes innocently when he glowers at her. “It’s okay! I’m not offended Derek, he’s very cute-“

“I get it,” he cuts in.

Erica smirks and he takes a pull of his beer as an excuse to ignore her gaze for a few seconds.

“So come on, tell me what’s going on,” she requests, her voice surprisingly gentle – all elements of teasing gone.

“I- he’s-“ Derek sighs, resists dramatically banging his head off the bar-top. “I don’t know.”

“Astute,” Erica hums. Annnnd the teasing is back. Derek scowls and she clucks her tongue. “I’m  _sorry_ , but seriously you’ve gotta give me more than that.”

“I- …This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbles after a few minutes.

“What wasn’t?” Erica prods carefully.

Derek stares down at his beer, thinks about how Stiles’ entire face lights up when he laughs, how he’s the most animated person Derek’s ever met but he always knows when it’s time to be quiet and still, how he gets all tactile when he’s tired. He looks back up at Erica, half-smiles a little regretfully. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for him.”

*

“Alright Stilinski, shirt off,” Cora commands, breezing into the room with garment bags slung over her arm and Derek following behind her.

Stiles looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrows. He’s been lounging in a chair in Cora’s design studio for the past ten minutes, waiting for her to show up with Derek so they could do their costume fittings. “Hello to you too?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cora waves a hand after dumping the garment bags on a spare folding chair. “Up on the podium and shirt off.”

“As you wish,” Stiles snarks, bowing exaggeratedly after he jumps up from his chair. Derek snorts and tries to cover his laugh before Cora rounds on him.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at, you’re next.”

The smile Derek had been futilely trying to hide drops off his face and he scowls, depositing himself into Stiles’ vacated chair. Stiles smirks and throws him a wink while Cora’s back is still turned.

When she faces him and sees his shirt still on his person she plants her hands on her hips and gives him an unimpressed once over.

“Alright, alright. Shirt off,” he huffs, tugging his t-shirt over his head. “Don’t you already have my measurements?” he adds dejectedly.

“Different fabrics fit you differently,” Cora mutters absently, already eyeing him critically and trying to decide between the various shirts she brought with her.

Stiles just sighs and accepts his fate, allows Cora to poke and prod at him and lifts his arms when instructed.

After a while he decides to catch Derek’s attention, figures he can engage him in an eyebrow conversation if nothing else. Except- Derek’s already looking at him.

There’s something in his expression…a kind of  _want_ , that Stiles has only ever remembered seeing once before. About four months ago in a club in San Francisco.

It only takes Derek a few seconds to realise Stiles has caught him staring and he instantly looks away, staring steadfastly down at his phone while his ears turn pink.

And Stiles- there’s no way he just imagined all that.

Is he- Does Derek- No, it’s not possible. Is it?

Stiles is hyperaware of every miniscule movement he makes for the next thirty minutes while Cora makes adjustments and gets him to try on a million pairs of pants. Eventually she deems him done for the day and lets him put his own clothes back on and even with his back turned Stiles can  _feel_  Derek’s eyes on him.

“Your turn, Der,” Cora says, writing something down in her notes about Stiles’ fitting.

Stiles technically doesn’t need to stay for this. They’re not scheduled to rehearse today, Stiles has assignments he should probably be doing and a bedroom that needs tidying but…staying for a little while wouldn’t hurt, right?

He slides back into the folding chair, ostensibly to tie his shoelaces but maybe he just peeks a little bit.

Derek is- god Derek is beautiful. In an obvious way, he guesses, but there’s something so understated about him. The quiet, almost shy way he holds himself. He looks warm, soft. Stiles just wants to touch him and be near him and maybe it’s taken him a long time to admit it to himself but now that he has, it’s what he wants. More than anything.

Derek catches him staring. He doesn’t look away this time, mostly he just seems like he’s trying to gauge Stiles’ reaction.

Stiles holds his gaze, smiles a little when _looking_  becomes a little bit too much for him to handle, and feels his chest constrict when Derek smiles back.

*

Stiles tends to infiltrate Derek’s apartment even when they’re not rehearsing. Like right now, for instance.

Derek had opened his door and found Stiles standing there with a stack of DVDs and a box of microwave popcorn, claiming they were having a movie night.

It sounds nice, honestly, so Derek doesn’t fight him on it – just goes to make the popcorn. It isn’t until he’s coming back out of the kitchen and sees the opening scene of Dirty Dancing on his TV that he tries to protest. “Stiles,” he says, deadpan.

“Yes?” Stiles looks up at him with a shit-eating grin before making grabby hands at the popcorn bowl.

“I’m not watching Dirty Dancing.” Derek _loves_ Dirty Dancing, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that. He sits down next to Stiles anyway, shoving the popcorn bowl into his lap.

“Consider it research,” Stiles says blithely, eyes already locked on the screen and a fistful of popcorn about to be shoved into his mouth.

Derek slouches back against the cushions, casts one more sideways glance at Stiles and settles in to watch the movie.

He should’ve known Stiles is a talker. He comments on _everything_ , still shovelling popcorn into his mouth as he does. It’s oddly endearing.

Derek shouldn’t be at all surprised when the sequence of Johnny and Baby practicing their lift comes on and Stiles’ assessing gaze snaps to him. He’s got a gleam in his eye Derek doesn’t trust.

“No-“ Derek starts to say but Stiles cuts him off.

“Please Derek,” Stiles whines. “It’s practice.”

“It’s you trying to re-enact famous movie scenes to live out some kind of fantasy.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about doing it.” Stiles gives him a sceptical look and Derek already knows he’s lost this battle.

“Fine,” he sighs.

“Yes!” Stiles crows, pausing the TV and jumping off the couch. He immediately goes to move the coffee table and Derek stands up, scoffing exasperatedly.

Once he’s deemed all the furniture to be out of the way he directs Derek to the centre of the room before backing himself up against the far wall. “Ready?” Stiles asks excitedly.

“I’m gonna drop you,” Derek warns, because he probably is.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Stiles sighs. “ _Try!”_

Derek obligingly widens his stance, plants his feet firmly on the ground and bends his knees, holding out his hands and preparing to catch Stiles. The unimpressed look on his face just makes Stiles pull a face right back before counting down.

“Ready? Three…Two… _One!”_

Stiles runs and Derek gets ready lift him and they…go sprawling to the floor exactly like Derek expected them to.

“You were supposed to catch me,” Stiles pants, apparently wriggling around to make sure all his limbs are still intact.

“Technically, I did,” Derek points out. “You’re lying on top of me.”

*

“We should stop for the night,” Derek mumbles, feeling more than a little exhausted. They’ve been rehearsing since four, it’s after midnight now - they moved to Stiles’ once their studio time was up since Scott was at Allison’s.

Stiles nods, yawning loudly and padding over to the couch that’s pushed back against the wall. He collapses on it unceremoniously, falling face first into the cushions.

“Pretty sure you’ve got a bed in there that works perfectly,” Derek reminds him, nodding to his bedroom down the hall.

Stiles shifts around on the couch until he’s lying on his side and looking at Derek, hands shoved under the cushion his head’s resting on. “Carry me,” he request pitifully.

“Not a chance,” Derek scoffs, pretending to make for the door.

“Wait!” Stiles calls before he can even make it a step away.

Slowly, he swivels back around and waits expectantly.

“Stay,” Stiles’ voice sounds sleep-addled already and Derek knows he should leave, knows he doesn’t need the lines blurred between them anymore than they already are. But Stiles looks so warm and inviting and Derek hasn’t been good at saying no to him in a long time.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Stiles grins contentedly, eyes drifting shut, and Derek figures it’s probably time to help him to bed or he’s gonna be bitching about sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week.

“Come on.” Derek holds out a hand and Stiles locks their fingers together, using it to pull himself up.

“You can stay in my room,” he mumbles, patting Derek’s chest absently. Derek doesn’t say anything as he loops an arm around Stiles’ waist and guides him to his bedroom.

Stiles droops down onto his bed and refuses to let go of Derek’s hand, forcing him to climb onto the bed too. As soon as Derek’s lying down Stiles wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling Derek’s arm around him.

“This is good,” Stiles murmurs, resting his own arm over Derek’s and threading their fingers back together again.

Derek is tense for a moment, has a weird sense like he’s taking advantage somehow, but then he feels Stiles’ breathing start to even out and he thinks maybe Stiles is right and maybe he shouldn’t fight this.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “It is.”

*

Stiles feels like crying when he hears incessant knocking on his front door at 8am on a  _Saturday morning_. Allison stayed over last night so there’s no way in hell she or Scott is getting up which forces Stiles to stagger through the apartment, squinting in the darkness, to make it stop.

He swings the door open and has a half a mind to close it in Derek’s face again. “What,” he croaks.

Derek’s smiling like the fact that he woke Stiles up is  _hilarious_.

“We’re not supposed to be rehearsing today,” Stiles tries again. He needs to  _sleep_ , he hasn’t had a lot of that lately.

“I know,” Derek says quietly. “I thought we could get breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Stiles says flatly even though he might be eliciting something resembling a squeal on the inside.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ll  _buy_.”

Stiles considers it for a moment, feels himself melt a little at Derek’s hopeful expression and heaves a put-upon sigh. “ _Fine_. I’ll get dressed.”

 

Derek takes them to a little café that Stiles drives past almost every day but has never actually been in before. It serves super healthy natural yoghurts and all that kinda crap that Derek is so endearingly meticulous about. But more importantly, they serve croissants – with Nutella!!!! - which is totally worth waking up for in Stiles’ books.

Derek eyes him disdainfully, before taking another spoonful of his own yoghurt-berry-concoction-thing. “I thought I’d been getting you to eat healthier.”

“You are, dude!” Stiles exclaims, mouth full of croissant-y goodness. Derek wrinkles his nose. “I’m allowed a cheat day, okay?” Stiles complains, swallowing thickly.

“We have a competition in eight days, Stiles,” Derek reminds him sardonically. “You realise you have to be in shape, right?”

“I’m in tip-top shape,” Stiles argues, leaning back in his chair and patting his flat stomach.

Derek eyes flit down to his stomach before slowly sliding back up to meet Stiles’ gaze and Stiles feels like things suddenly got a lot more tense between them.

He clears his throat and sits up straight again, trying futilely not to blush when he sees Derek smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“So anyway,” Stiles says, planning on ploughing through with changing the conversation topic. “Why’d you wanna go out today?”

Derek shrugs, swirls his spoon around his bowl. “All we’ve been doing lately is dancing or talking about dancing or meeting with one of the million people helping us and I wanted to do something that was just for us. No pressure, no stress, just us. Spending time together as friends.”

“As friends,” Stiles repeats faintly.

Something in Derek’s eyes changes then, like there’s a whole other conversation happening here that’s going unsaid. Slowly, he nods.

“I’m glad you’re my friend… And my dance partner,” Stiles says carefully. “I’m glad you’re in my life.”

Any guardedness that had been there before completely falls off Derek’s face as he looks at Stiles with a completely open expression.  Stiles just offers him a small smile and hopes it’s enough.

Eventually Derek’s lips quirk up in the corners and he smiles back. “Me too.”

 

It’s hours later when Derek drops him home. They’re idling in the car and Stiles suspects neither one of them really wants to leave.

“I needed today,” he tells Derek. “Thank you.”

“I think we both did,” Derek counters. “It was nice.”

Stiles nods, feels a ridiculous need to lean in the longer he looks at Derek. He’s almost considering it when Derek’s phone goes off. They both jump and Stiles realises how close they’d actually been before they’d pulled away.

Derek frowns down at his phone like it’s personally offended him before looking up and smiling apologetically. “Cora,” he explains. “I better go.”

“Right.” Stiles ducks his head and opens the passenger door. In a split-second decision he reaches over and squeezes Derek’s hand before climbing out of the car.

Derek’s smile is practically _bashful_ as he waves and drives away.

Stiles is so screwed.

*

The plane ride to Chicago is in the middle of the night and Derek hates flying enough without Stiles sitting next to him, jiggling his leg nervously. “Would you stop?” he huffs, slouching down in his seat and shutting the blind on the window. Flying at night is the worst.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, his gaze meeting Derek’s fleetingly before darting away again. He stops jiggling his knee in favour of clutching the arm rests in a death-like grip. Derek watches him for a few minutes before sighing and settling his hand over Stiles’.

Stiles’ head snaps up and he looks at Derek, opening his mouth in an aborted attempt to talk before Derek slowly gets him to release his grip on the arm rest and folds their fingers together. Stiles is incredibly still for a moment, like he’s afraid Derek will pull away if he moves. When he seems to deem it safe, he hesitantly pulls their joined hands into his lap, adjusting the grip so they’re palm to palm and then covering them over with his other hand.

Derek doesn’t say anything and he refuses to acknowledge the comfort he feels holding Stiles’ hand. There’s an anticipatory feel in the air and Derek finds himself holding his breath waiting for Stiles’ next move.

Eventually he hears Stiles exhale a breath of relief when Derek doesn’t take his hand away.

“Thanks,” he says softly and Derek smiles slightly to himself, closing his eyes and finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep with one last squeeze of Stiles’ hand.

*

“It’s not working,” Derek huffs frustratedly, dragging a tired hand over his face.

Stiles looks up at him from where he’s sitting on the floor, which is where he’s been since they overbalanced when Derek tried to lift him and they toppled. He chews on his lip in contemplation, idly watching Derek pace angrily in front of him.

It’s the only big lift in their routine. He’s only supposed to spend a second in the air above Derek’s head before he swings down again but they’ve been trying to master the balance of the lift itself without adding the dismount. It hasn’t really worked so far.

After a moment he claps his hands together and pushes himself up off the ground. “Okay, come on.”

“Where are we going?” Derek asks desolately. God he’s such a drama queen. It’s  _adorable_.

“To practise,” Stiles replies simply.

Derek gives him a confused look. “But we’re already in the studio?”

“We’re not practising in the studio,” Stiles tells him, starting towards the door and hoping Derek will follow him.

“Then where are we practising?” Stiles hears the footsteps behind him and smiles to himself.

“The roof,” he responds casually over his shoulder.

He hears Derek make a vaguely indignant, spluttering noise and then, “Stiles- the roof?  _You could fall_.”

Stiles spins on his heel, gives Derek a hundred watt smile and says, “Well then you better catch me.”

 

It’s breezy up on the roof but not overly so. It feels revitalising more than anything, cooling Stiles’ hot skin after the last hour or so of rehearsals. When he comes to the centre of the roof he turns around to see Derek surveying the area, eyeing the lip around the edge warily. Something in his expression changes when his eyes land on Stiles though. He softens, just the smallest hint of a smile peeking out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks Stiles because they both know there’s only one part of this routine they’re faltering on and it’s the big lift towards the end. And Stiles falling on concrete could be a lot more damaging than falling on a wooden floor.

But Derek is one of the most competent partners Stiles has ever had. He’s always concerned about Stiles’ safety, always makes sure his hands are in the exact right place at the exact right moment so that everything moves fluidly. He’d sooner use himself to break Stiles’ fall than actually let Stiles hurt himself.

“I’m sure,” Stiles says seriously because he knows it’s what Derek needs to hear.

Derek nods, moving closer to him while Stiles takes a step back so they can get into their starting positions.

“Do you wanna count out the beats or play the music?”

Stiles ponders the question for a moment. They’ve got their timing essentially perfect and Derek always counts under his breath when they practise anyway. And there’s something indescribable about the way he feels when the opening bars of their music filters in and Derek gives him  _this look_  before they move together. Without another thought he moves to the gear bag Derek carried up with him and digs out the wireless IPod dock and his IPod.

He quickly presses play and dashes back to his position. He catches the amused smirk on Derek’s face before he can cover it up and it distracts him for a second until the music begins and everything melts away.

The beat, his next moves; they’re always in the back of his head but these moments are really the moments where he indulges himself. Where he allows himself to look at Derek the way he always wants to, where he can just follow the music because it’ll always lead him to Derek.

Stiles loses track of time as they rehearse. Every lyric and step blurs together. He feels himself shiver, despite the fact he’s broken a sweat, every time they do one of their smaller lifts when Derek picks him up, burying his face in Stiles neck as he spins him before Stiles drifts out of his arms.

Every time they go through the routine the lift is almost perfect but almost isn’t enough for either of them. So they keep going. They move effortlessly across the roof as the clouds above them slowly begin to lighten, not that either of them even notice - Stiles doesn’t really see anything beyond Derek’s eyes and his earnest, concentrating expression. 

He’s lost count of the amount of times they’ve done the dance when they finally master the lift. He pauses for half a second before he pushes off his feet and runs to Derek, feels the air being punched out of him as Derek’s hands close around his sides and he hoists him into the air and then, there’s complete stillness beneath him.

Stiles holds his breath but Derek doesn’t tremble. His hands are steady, squeezing into Stiles’ skin to keep him balanced and Stiles keeps his body taut, afraid to move a single muscle.

But then he looks up and sees that the sky is a riot of oranges, pinks and blues. The sun rose and they didn’t even notice. He feels the breeze whip around him, brushing his hair back off his face and he suddenly finds himself laughing in giddy delight.

They did it. They did the lift and it took them all night but they did it. And this moment feels exhilarating. Stiles feels like he’s on top of the world, he feels like he’s _flying_.

He wants to capture this moment, remember every detail, how everything looked, how everything felt.

He’s broken out of his reverie when he hears Derek’s shy laugh join his and then Stiles is moving. Derek’s lowering him so Stiles latches onto his shoulders when he can reach them. But before Derek can set him on the ground Stiles locks his legs around his middle, sliding his hands from Derek’s shoulders to wind around his neck and hug him tightly, grinning like he’s never been happier.

Derek clings to him as if he’s holding something precious – as if  _Stiles_  is something precious – his face pressed into the side of Stiles’ neck, huffs of laughter exhaling out of him every so often.

It could be a minute or a year later when Stiles finally pulls back to meet Derek’s eyes. There’s a look on his face Stiles couldn’t find a name for even if he tried but whatever it is, it makes his heart speed up with something he thinks is anticipation.

“We should get some sleep,” Derek whispers, smiling almost bashfully.

Stiles nods, ducking his head to hide his smile as his legs slowly slip from around Derek.

If they hold hands while they walk back to their rooms well, it’s just habit from rehearsal.

 

They wander down to their rooms in silence, hands clasped loosely and shoulders brushing with every step. When they reach their doors, Stiles lets his fingers brush against Derek’s as he pulls away, as though they were still dancing, playing two lovers parting ways.

Stiles leans back against his door, hand resting on the handle, smiling slightly as Derek does the same, pausing at his own door to turn to Stiles.

“See you in a couple of hours,” Stiles murmurs softly, an inexplicable smile still on his face.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek replies quietly, his lips curved up delicately. This whole moment feels delicate.

Stiles presses down on the door handle, not taking his eyes off Derek as he follows suit. Stiles pushes back on the door, offers Derek one last smile before stepping inside. Once he’s closed the door behind him he slumps against it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Wow

*

They have two minutes before the curtain goes up.

It’s quiet backstage, all the other performers are still in their dressing rooms or have already danced and all the stagehands are just milling around, looking over clipboards or talking quietly into headsets.

Stiles is standing a few feet away from him, bouncing on his heels like he’s trying to expel all his nervous energy.

“Nervous?” Derek asks even though his own palms are sweating.

Stiles gives him a sideways glance, his laugh coming out on an exhale. “Can you blame me?”

“We’ve done it before, we can do it again,” Derek says with surety.

“Win or the lift?” Stiles snorts.

“Both.”

When the music cuts on stage Stiles hurries over and closes the distance between them, eyes darting around like he can’t decide what to focus on. “Good luck,” he whispers.

Derek wants to say it back, is about to say it back, he can hear the announcer and they literally have thirty seconds before the curtain goes up but he just needs to-

He steps forward, catching Stiles’ hand and pulling him into a kiss. It only lasts a second, they don’t have time for it to last any longer but Derek feels alive when he lets go of Stiles, feels like he’s never been more aware of himself in a moment than he is right now.

Stiles is staring at him with shell-shocked eyes, rooted to the spot.

“Break a leg,” Derek whispers and turns to face forward again. After a second he looks over to Stiles who’s resumed his position with a secret kind of smile on his face.

It’s the last thing Derek sees before the curtains open.

*

When the lights go up Stiles can’t see the crowd. But he can see Derek.

Derek is standing across from, smiling at him – in a way that Stiles is now one hundred percent positive is real – and he knows they can do this.

He can feel it as they’re dancing, every move is seamless, in time. It’s like there’s a string connecting him to Derek, constantly bringing them back together, helping them move together.

Stiles feels every touch of Derek’s hands and just wants more, he wants to chase him, seek him out. It’s a good thing they’re never that far apart anyway.

The lift is perfect and Stiles can just about contain his beaming grin where Derek sets him down again. He does feel the slightest pressure on his hip before Derek’s hands leave him and he knows it’s Derek’s silent way of saying, “We did it.”

The music is starting to slow, their dance almost over, and as Stiles looks over at Derek he knows he feels this too. Whatever the hell this is, they’re in it together. Always have been even when they didn’t realise it.

When the music fades out they’re in their final positions, faces only mere inches apart, chests heaving. There’s moment of complete still where Stiles smiles at Derek, feeling like everything is coming into sharp focus, and then suddenly the crowd is erupting into applause and Derek’s barrelling forward and hugging him tightly.

They did it.

*

It doesn’t matter how many times Derek stands on stage with Stiles, waiting for the results is still one of the most nerve-racking experiences.

But Stiles is clutching his hand in his and Derek thinks, even if they don’t  win, even if neither of them gets recruited, at least they have this.

Derek got _Stiles_. And it doesn’t even matter in what capacity. He has him in his life and that’s enough.

He’s slightly numb to other names being called out and trophies and applause, Stiles’ hand being the only thing keeping him grounded. It isn’t until he hears  _their_  names that his brain kicks in again.

There’s clapping and cheering, and the announcer saying something, and a trophy being pressed into their hands but the only tangible thing Derek can feel is Stiles’ arms flung around him. He hugs back, buries his head in Stiles’ neck and just reminds himself to _breathe_.

This is real, they got here. It took a hell of a long time but they got here. Derek really, really likes it here.

*

There’s a party for all the competitors in the ballroom at the hotel after the competition. It’s a good night. There’s lots of hugging and congratulations and laughing – as well as a few lingering looks from his dance partner. They lose sight of each other for a while, both swept up in all the people trying to talk to them. When Stiles finally manages to grab a minute along he goes to find him.

He watches Derek sitting alone at a table, gaze lazily scanning the crowd as he loosens his tie. He looks perfect – suit jacket undone, top button of his shirt open, a little bit dishevelled no doubt from all the hugs he’s had to field since he got here.

God, Stiles just wants to be with him.

He can’t wait any longer, he meanders over to Derek, hands tucked in his pants pockets. When he stops Derek looks up at him, smiling contently when he meets Stiles’ gaze.

“How about a dance?” he offers, slipping his hand out of his pocket and holding it out to Derek.

Derek takes it and uses it to pull himself up - Stiles feels a small thrill at the lack of hesitation.

“I don’t know,” Derek teases then, even as they’re moving toward the dance floor.

“Come on, Der. When’s the last time you danced for fun?” Stiles grins, waggling his eyebrows when Derek meets his gaze.

“I think I remember,” he replies, voice suddenly soft and quiet.

Stiles’ expression goes blank with surprise before he flushes. “Well I think this style is more your speed anyway,” he says, mostly to cover up his blush.

“Is that so?” Derek asks, arching an eyebrow as they come to a stop. He settles one of his hands on Stiles’ hip and Stiles follows suit. They clasp their other hands together, hold them tight against their chests and Stiles is suddenly terrified Derek will somehow feel how fast his heart his beating.

They sway slowly for a few minutes until Stiles finally gets up the courage to lean his forehead against Derek’s and close his eyes. “I think I like this type of dancing better,” he whispers.

“San Francisco wasn’t so bad either,” Derek murmurs. Stiles chances opening his eyes again and sees Derek’s are closed.

“Want me to sing again?” he mumbles teasingly. “Because I can-“

Derek cuts him off by slotting their lips together. It’s one of those earth-shattering soft, slow kisses that makes you feel like your knees have turned to jelly and your heart’s leaving a permanent stamp on your chest.

“Or we could do that…” Stiles exhales on a shaky breath when they finally break apart and Derek huffs a laugh. It’s the best it’s ever sounded brushing against Stiles’ lips. 

“Would it be terribly rude if we skipped out on our own victory party early?” he breathes, hands bunching up the fabric at the back of Stiles’ suit.

Stiles’ eyes fly open when the words sink in. “Screw this victory party! We’ve got a much more important one to attend in my room. Preferably without clothes.”

“Smooth,” Derek snorts. But his smile is blinding as he takes Stiles’ hand and leads him off the dance floor.

*

This time it’s slower, less rushed.

Stiles holds his hand as they walk down the hall, brushes their shoulders together with every step. He leans against the wall once they’re inside the elevator, smiling lazily as he pulls Derek in by his tie. The kiss is soft, a constant pressure that makes Derek’s lips tingle.

Derek puts his arm around him as they walk towards Stiles’ room, presses his smile into Stiles’ cheek when he leans into him. Stiles fumbles with the keycard, swears under his breath before the green light finally flicks on and he looks back up at Derek with a sheepish smile.

They kiss against the door, an unhurried, lingering thing that makes Derek feel cracked open and vulnerable but also more secure than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He untucks Stiles’ shirt from his pants while Stiles works on the buttons of his shirt, mouths never leaving each other.

When Derek pulls back to take a breath Stiles huffs an awed kind of laugh, forehead pressing gently against his. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Derek opens his eyes, sees Stiles’ pupil-blown and too close ones staring back at him. “But you want to, right?” Because he has to make sure. This can’t be like the last time,  _it can’t_.

“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs soothingly, cupping Derek’s jaw and brushing his thumb over his cheek. “I meant,  _finally_ , I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s about time.”

Derek laughs and it comes out breathless but he doesn’t care, surging forward again to capture Stiles’ lips with his own. Stiles latches onto his hands before Derek can do anything with them and laces their fingers together.

It’s such a small, intimate gesture but it has Derek deepening the kiss desperately. He starts leading them backwards towards the bed then, sighs in relief when the backs of his knees finally hit the mattress and drops down, pulling Stiles down with him.

Time feels like it comes to an almost standstill then.

Derek sits up with Stiles in his lap, knees braced on either side of him, so Stiles can push his shirt off his shoulders. He leans forward as soon as it’s gone, opening the buttons on Stiles’ shirt one at a time, mouthing at each new piece of exposed skin as Stiles lets out a stuttering breath above him.

Stiles’ fingers card through his hair, tugging every time Derek bites down. Eventually he starts to push at Derek’s shoulders until they’re lying down again and he takes over.

There’s a lot of wandering hands; travelling, seeking, exploring. There’s a lot of kisses; on mouths, on jaws, on necks, on chests. There’s a lot.

Everything else happens in a bundle of snapshot moments.

The rest of their clothes tugged off. Stiles’ hand rummaging in his bag on the nightstand. Stiles kissing the inside of his thigh. Stiles’ _fingers_. Stiles easing into him so, so carefully, his laugh coming out on an exhale when he catches Derek’s eye.

It’s overwhelming and Derek’s finds himself breathing out Stiles’ name, pressing his fingers into his hips, taking his hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing anywhere he can reach.

Stiles whines his name, falls forward until his hands are bracketing Derek’s head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Derek Hale,” he groans, presses their foreheads together.

“Hopefully not,” Derek mumbles against his lips. It cuts off into a moan as soon as Stiles rocks his hips again.

It doesn’t last long after that but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t need to. It’s enough. It’s everything.

 

It’s a while later when they’re cleaned up and lounging in bed, Stiles draped on top of Derek with his chin resting on his arms folded across Derek’s chest. Derek runs his hands idly up Stiles’ sides, feels stupidly enamoured by the quiet smile on his lips.

“I think this is gonna be something really special, y’know,” Stiles murmurs, eyes bright even in the darkness of the room.

Derek’s hands still on his sides and he tries to think of the best way he could put his feelings into words, the best way he could show Stiles how much he means to him. But then he thinks of every dance, every late night rehearsal, every time they’ve fallen asleep together and he thinks maybe he’s been doing it all along.

“I think it already is,” Derek tells him.

The look on Stiles’ face is completely caught off guard and completely wonder-struck as he inches forward and closes the gap between them.

 _Yeah_ , Derek thinks,  _this is something special_.

*

Stiles gets a call from a scout on Monday. Derek gets a call ten minutes after Stiles hangs up the phone.

It’s for auditions to a dance company based in California. Thankfully the news overshadows the news that he and Derek are together – even though Lydia and Laura have decided to take full credit and are acting like they planned the whole thing. Stiles doesn’t really mind.

“What if I get in and you don’t?” Stiles asks teasingly, climbing on top of Derek where he’s lying on Stiles’ couch.

Derek scoffs, slides his hands up the back of Stiles’ shirt. “Are you kidding me? As if anyone else could keep you in line.”

“Like anyone could dance with you without crying from stress,” Stiles snorts, brushes their noses together and dips in for a kiss.

“Guess we’ll just have to hope they want us as a package deal,” Derek smirks.

Stiles smirks, feels it settle into something far more tender and affectionate when Derek brushes his thumb over his cheek. “Guess so.”

He might pass his audition or Derek might, or both of them will or neither of them will. Either way neither of them will stop dancing or working hard. It’s gonna take a lot but the part where he gets to wake up to Derek’s face, have lazy Sundays on the couch with Derek, debate movie with Derek, just  _be with Derek_ , yeah he thinks he’s got  _that part_  all figured out.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god what to say, where to start...first of all I want to say a /huge/ thank you to Hela who basically gave me this idea in the first place and has put up with me sending her random scenes and romantic lyrics at all hours of the day for like two months straight. bless you <3
> 
> second of all, I really, really hope you all enjoy this. I've worked super hard on this and I'm extremely proud of the way it came together so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it :')
> 
> finally if you're looking for me on tumblr you can find me at [ littlespooneven](http://littlespooneven.tumblr.com/) :)


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